One Night Only
by ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: preRent The only one night stand he couldn't stop thinking about, the only girl that he couldn't have. A bitter sweet treat for Valentine's Day. Please R&R!


**A/N: This oneshot is reposted due to my personal need to change the title. Ever since I watched Dreamgirls and became obssessed with the soundtrack, there's this song that keeps playing in my head, and I feel that its chorus fits the plot of this oneshot perfectly. So I changed it. It works better than the previous _Written in the Stars_ anyway. Reviews are still welcome! **

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Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I rent. **

**One Night Only**

He was alone that night. His roommates were all at home, too tired to go out. He'd be dead before he'd be found hanging out with one of his work colleagues. He didn't work there for long, but it was long enough to conclude that they were all a bunch of arrogant jerks. So there was only one place he could think of going by himself without looking like a complete loser. _Moonville_ had just recently opened, and he liked the place from the first night he went there. The music was good, the drink prices were reasonable, and most importantly, you could walk in there without being considered pathetic, which was exactly what he sought for.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the semi-darkness of the bar. It was still kind of early, but the place was already packed with people. A mixture of alcohol, sweat and cigarette smoke was carried heavily in the air, making him momentarily dizzy. He quickly got himself together, and found an empty seat along the bar.

A waitress smiled at him, and he ordered a drink. On his right, a redhead in a pink top smiled flirtatiously at him, but he was less than interested. Not his type. He looked away.

This was when he spotted her.

She was alone too, at the far end of the bar, stirring her martini slowly, almost methodically. He was immediately drawn to her, to the hypnotizing movement of her hand. She was a beauty; he could tell even from a distance. Her hair was long and dark, curling softly at the very edges of it. She wore a short dress, black, it seemed, and the material ended high on her thigh, as she sat there cross-legged on the high stool. He let his gaze linger on each and every curve of her body, but it was a difficult task in the darkness of the bar. She looked like the queen of shadows, hidden at the farthest end of the bar. It looked like such a waste.

He watched, transfixed, as she raised the glass to her cherry-colored lips, slowly sipping it. He felt his mouth go dry. There was something bewitching about her, something seductive and mystifying and so incredibly sexy. He knew that he'd better take his eyes off her, but he couldn't.

As if feeling she was being watched, she looked up, and their gazes met.

Oh-uh, he thought, flashing at her a coy, apologetic smile. He hoped it'd get him off the hook. He cursed himself for not turning his gaze on time.

To his utter surprise, a smile was slowly curling on her lips. He was sitting, but he still felt this sudden weakness in his knees. Her smile was teasing, playful, and it took him two more seconds to realize there was an obvious invitation in it.

He grabbed his beer and made his way towards her. The stool next to her was surprisingly empty, so he took a seat. She looked even more gorgeous when she was so close. Her dress _was_ black, he could now tell, and it was clinging to her in a way that left very little place for your imagination. For a moment, he was speechless. He knew that sitting there staring at her would do him no good. But there was really not much he could do.

She seemed to notice, for she smiled again, and said, "Dance with me."

He gladly complied to her soft command, taking her hand in his. They made their way to the dance floor. He let her manipulate him all the way through. She pressed herself against him as the music slowed, her arms snaking around his neck. He got that as a sign and slid his arms to her waist, holding her closer. She didn't object. He closed his eyes, lost in her scent, in the warmth of her sweaty body against his own. Her heart was beating slowly, rhythmically, against his chest. Her hips swayed ever so slightly to the sound of music. He realized they haven't said a word to one another yet, except for the three words she uttered, those three words that were still ringing in his ear.

"What's your name?" he murmured close to her ear. He felt her shiver.

"What do you want it to be?" she asked, looking up at him with a gleam in her eyes.

He stared at her, unsure whether or not she meant it. She raised one eyebrow, as if challenging him. He decided to play along. "Lenore," he whispered into her ear again. It rolled on his tongue, seductive and dangerous.

She smiled against his neck. He loosened his grip on her waist, his hands sliding a bit down, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her hips. He could feel her own fingers caress the back of his neck. They said nothing, just continued their silent innuendoes. He knew he couldn't take much more of that. This had never happened to him before. He wanted her. The fact that he had hardly said two words to her changed very little. He had to have her.

Their eyes met. She smiled again and leaned forward, until her cherry-colored lips brushed against his. It was hardly a real kiss, but it was that thing in her eyes that assured him that the same thought had crossed their minds.

"Let's get out of here," she said, and there was this unmistaken urgency in her voice.

There wasn't much that was left for him to do, but follow.

oxoxoxoxoxoxo

It was cold outside the bar, but he hardly felt it. His fingers laced with hers, he let her lead him through the dark streets and alleys of the East Village. Her hand was soft, warm, and there was a sort of urgency in the way she held his hand. Her grip was fierce and gentle at the same time. He could feel his heart beating, pounding in his chest. Ending the night in a stranger's bed was not unusual to him, but normally it was after spending a considerable part of the evening with her, and he would at least know her name. But this… this… he definitely wasn't used to _this_ sort of adventures.

A sudden pull of his hand, and they were in a building. A single light bulb flickered on and off above them, giving the entrance a creepy essence. He wondered how she wasn't scared to live in such a place, but this silent inquiring didn't last long. Before he knew it, she pressed him against a wall, wrapped her arms around his neck, and drew closer to kiss him.

He managed to stop an instinctive protest when her lips crushed against his. Nearly losing his balance by her sudden movement, he wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her back. God, this was _unbelievable_. The guys would never believe him when he told them. Her tongue was sliding along his lower lip, teasing him, seeking for entrance, and he let her in immediately. He turned them over so that her back was now leaning against the wall, which allowed him to delve deeper into the kiss. His hands wandered from her waist to her hips, along the material of her dress and downwards, now caressing the skin of her hips. She didn't object (unless raising a leg to wrap it around his waist was considered an objection), so he slid his hands under her dress further up, until his fingers made contact with a different, satin-like material.

And then she suddenly pulled away, straightening up. "Not… here…" she murmured breathlessly, laying her own hands on his as if to stop him.

He obeyed, a bit disoriented, and placed his hands on her waist again as he followed her upstairs. He was extremely distracted; there was this constant buzzing in his ears. They stopped every five stairs or so to kiss each other senseless, then continued up the stairs. One floor, two floors… at some point he simply lost count.

He thought it was the forth floor when she stopped, and looked at him over her shoulder, as if to make sure he was following. He got rid of his jacket at some point, and it hung loosely on his shoulder. She flashed a wicked grin at him and nodded towards a door down the hall. Finally.

She rummaged through her purse, finding her keys. She had trouble fitting it into the lock; probably because he suckled on her neck and earlobe, his arms tightening around her, his fingers tickling her sides and stomach. She giggled. He thought he'd melt at the sound of it. Once more, he thought how crazy this was. He didn't even know her. He didn't even know her name! But before he could think better of it, she managed to get the door open, and pulled him in.

They resumed their kissing once the door was closed. He pushed her against it, a bit roughly he thought, but he didn't stop to apologize. Her kisses were addictive; he couldn't get enough of her. He let his hands wander again, along her sides, brushing against the Lycra of her dress and downwards, until his fingers made contact with her skin again. He stopped for a second, and locked his eyes with hers, to make sure she was okay with it. Her own unfocused expression was quickly replaced with a playful smile as she nodded her approval, but before he could act on it, she took hold of his jacket and sent it flying across the room. He smirked when she returned her gaze from where it landed, in the darkness of her apartment, to him. They were still standing on her doorway, he suddenly realized, but she didn't seem to care. They also said very little to one another, but she didn't seem to care about that, either.

His dress shirt was next. He forgot his original intentions about taking her dress off when she ran her hands down his chest. He could feel goosebumps forming on his skin in spite of the shirt that was still in her way. Well, not for much longer. She started undoing the buttons, very slowly at first, giving her full attention to each, but then at some point she seemed to have lost patience, and she simply tore it apart. There was a clanging sound when several buttons found their way to the floor.

The shirt was hanging loose on his body now. He gasped when her cold hands made contact with his skin. She smiled again, pushing him a bit forward, still saying nothing. It took him a second to realize she was guiding him deeper into her apartment; down the dark hall, into her bedroom.

The room was completely dark, except for a flickering billboard from somewhere at the street, that gave it a strange pinkish glow. She kicked the door close behind them, and turned to face him again. Her smile was gone. She was all seriousness now, as if in a mission. She approached him and peeled the shirt off his shoulders. Then she raised her arms, looking directly at him. Instantly realizing what he was expected to do, he reached to the hem of her dress and pulled it up, letting his hands brush against her skin as he did, until he got the material off her and threw it across the room.

He just stood there for a moment, staring like an idiot. She was gorgeous, illuminated by the pinkish glow from the street. She stood there in her black, satin lingerie, her hair streaming down her shoulders, the faintest smile curling on her cherry-colored lips. The goddess of the night. He swallowed, hard. Boy, oh boy.

She walked slowly towards him, obviously aware of his lustful gaze at the way her hips swayed with each step that brought her closer to him. She snaked her arms around his neck, bringing his head down for another kiss. As he returned her kiss he felt her arms sliding down, settling on his belt buckle. She undid it quickly, expertly, without even breaking their kiss, and then slid it off and away. She messed with his pants a few seconds more before she got them off as well. When he stood there, only in his dark boxers, feeling the chill from the open window hitting his back, he thought it was weird. He didn't even remember at which point he had taken off his shoes and socks.

They were just standing there now, facing one another, both breathless and wearing very little. He had to say something, anything, to break the silence, if only to make sure that it was real, that he wasn't dreaming this, only he didn't know what to say. He didn't know her name… but then he remembered that he had given her a different name, a fantasy name, a name that seemed to fit her perfectly at the darkness of the bar.

"Lenore," his voice came out a soft whisper as he tried it out. Her gaze followed his hand as he reached to caress her cheek. Only a hint of hesitance was left in him now, and it was slowly fading away as well, as their gazes met for one last time. She smiled, that slow, beautiful smile that made him feel weakness all over, and their lips met halfway as she gently pushed him backwards. They tumbled on her bed, entanglement of arms and legs, kissing roughly.

The sound of her name remained hung in mid-air, amidst the soft, flickering light from the street.

oxoxoxoxoxoxo

He woke up with no apparent reason. The sun was up in the sky, hurting his eyelids. He groaned softly and rubbed his eyes. He was hurt all over. Then his gaze wandered towards the sleeping figure next to him, and a slow smile sent the sleepiness away. Now, in broad daylight, he had a chance to observe her more closely without her being aware of it.

She _was_ a beauty. It became even clearer now, at daylight. It wasn't just an illusion of the night. She was lying on her side, her caramel-colored hair sprawled on the pillows, long and entangled. Her face was flawless, peaceful, angelic; her skin looked exquisite, porcelain-like. Was she real? For a second, he toyed with the idea of waking her to make sure he wasn't dreaming this, but then he decided against it. He couldn't wake her. He wouldn't. He'd steal another moment of watching her.

He had no idea what time it was. It looked mid-morning, which meant he was late for work, but for once, he didn't care. He'd probably have to stop at home and take a shower first, which meant he'd have some questions to answer. Well, maybe not. The guys were sort of used to his disappearances for the entire night. And yet, he despised the idea of going to work. He wished he could stay there instead of having to-

A piercing ring tore at the morning silence, nearly making him jump with a start. Where the hell that came from? And then he saw where, when she turned, eyes still closed, to her bedside and pressed off the alarm with a soft grunt. She lingered for a moment longer with her back to him, as if trying to steal a moment more of slumber. It made him smile. She didn't seem aware of his presence.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he said, quietly so it wouldn't scare her.

Slowly, she turned to face him again. God, she was beautiful. Her eyes, still fogged with sleep, were greenish-brown. He had never seen such color before. When she seemed to remember who he was and why he was in her bed, a small smile curled on her lips. "Hi," she said, a bit coyly.

He returned her smile and shifted slightly until he was leaning against the bed-board, then ran a hand along her cheek and to the back of her neck, pulling her close for a kiss. It was nothing like the rough, fervent kisses of the night before; it was slow and tender, totally not his style, and yet he found himself enjoying every second of it.

Then, before he knew it, she pulled away. "You have to go," she said breathlessly.

"Why?"

"I have to be someplace," was her vague reply.

"Can't you get there a bit later?"

"Not unless I want to get my ass kicked."

She had a sweet voice, a bit hoarse from sleep, but extremely irresistible nonetheless. He just stared at her, unusually defeated. It felt weird to be the one who was kicked out that way the morning after. Usually it was the other way around. And he wasn't the guy to beg for a girl's company. Hell no. But deep down inside, he really didn't want to go, because he knew it meant that he'd never see her again. And in that case… "Can you at least tell me your name?"

She seemed to consider it, but then shook her head. "We'd better leave it this way."

No names, a safer game. Was it that bad for her the other night? It sure didn't feel like it.

As if she could tell he was asking himself that, she smiled, shaking her head again. "I had a really great time last night," she assured him. "But I don't think it's something that can last. I'm not that kind of girl. And honestly you don't seem that kind of boy, either." He found himself slowly nodding at her sharp observation. "See? It's better to leave it in that."

"Can I see you again?" he found himself ask, in spite of himself, in a desperate sort of way that didn't suit him. Her voice, her eyes, the scent of her hair, it was all too distractive.

"You will," she replied, smiling mysteriously. "If it's meant to be." She didn't really give him time to digest this before she went out of bed and started, stark naked, towards the bathroom. "You can show yourself out, right?" she asked, throwing a glance at him from over her bare shoulder.

He nodded kind of dumbly, trying not to stare yet can't help it at the same time. She smiled as if she noticed, and left the room. He went out of bed only when he heard the door at the farthest end of the hall being closed. He found his clothes and put them on hastily. Two buttons of his dress-shirt were missing. He could care less.

As he left the apartment, her voice was still ringing in his ears, bewitching, showing him the way out.

_You will, if it's meant to be.. _

* * *

It's been three weeks, and he's in a daze. This has never happened to him before. He has fallen for her, completely and entirely, not even knowing her name. He relives the night in his dreams ever since, waking up in the middle of the night trembling and sweaty, into damp sheets, alone in his bed, and her name, the only name he knows, Lenore, is whispered brokenly, desperately, into the darkness. 

He sighs. He knows he can't go on like this. Lack of sleep starts to take its toll on him. The guys in work are beginning to notice. His boss also commented about him looking somewhat out of the weather lately. It is noticeable at home, too. The guys don't say anything, but he knows they know something is wrong. He wants to tell them, he really does, but knowing how stupid it'll sound, he chickens out.

He glances at the paperwork in front of him, sighs once again, pushes it aside. He needs some coffee. Maybe this will help.

Across from him, Roger raises his head in surprise, giving him a questioning look. "Is everything okay, man?" he asks, leaning his guitar against the coffee table.

"Everything's fine, I just can't concentrate, that's all."

"I can take myself and my guitar to the fire escape if you need some peace and quiet," Roger suggests in a rare moment of generosity.

"No, it's not you, man." Maybe he _should_ tell Roger.

"What is it, then?" Roger asks, quite innocently, as if he doesn't really expect it to be anything serious.

He hesitates, and then starts. "There's this girl-" he starts. Roger's expression changes. He shifts slightly forward in sudden interest. "I met her three weeks ago at _Moonville_. I dunno, man. There's just this something about her."

"Define 'something'."

"I don't know how."

"What does she look like?"

"Long dark hair, green eyes, her skin is kind of pale, sort of like Mark's, only not. Incredible figure…" his voice trails off. He can go on and on with it. _Dark Beauty_. If he was a poet, this would have been just the phrase to use. But he cannot tell Roger _that_.

"Did you sleep with her?" Roger asks, although his tone implies that he already knows the answer.

He nods anyway. "Yeah," he replies wistfully, pretending to feel her hands on him again, her lips fluttering on every bit of exposed skin, following a trail that her fingernails made. How can he possibly tell Roger it was probably the most incredible night he has ever spent with anyone in his 20-something years of existence?

"Whoa, man, you got it bad," Roger observes. The spark in his eyes is amused. "One night was all it took?"

He doesn't answer. Sometimes silence is a better admittance.

"Did you see her again?"

I wish, he thinks. "No," to Roger.

"What's her name?"

Here we go, he thinks. Now he's going to come out lame. "I don't know."

"You don't know," Roger echoes. "Don't know as in 'I knew her name but I can't remember it right now', right?"

"No, don't know as in 'I didn't know her name when I slept with her, either'," he replies, his bitterness increasing. He looks at Roger, who has a wide, goofy grin curling on his lips. He knows he'd better not tell him about the name he has given her; the name from his fantasies.

"So let me get this straight," Roger says slowly, giving him an incredulous look. "You're telling me that not only that someone actually managed to touch your heart for once, but it's someone you didn't even know her name?"

"That's… what I'm telling you," he slowly nods, dropping his head. He doesn't feel relieved after telling this to someone. He actually feels all the more pathetic now.

Roger grabs his guitar, then strums some random notes. "You're in deep trouble, man," he smirks.

"Yeah, I was hoping for something more effective than that, Davis," he frowns.

"You can always go back to _Moonville_, look for her there," Roger tries his best to be supportive, it seems.

"I did that."

"Maybe you just need to forget about it," Roger states simply.

He wants to tell him that he wishes he could, but it's not that easy; instead, he nods, knowing that Roger won't understand.

But as if Roger knows what's on his mind, he shakes his head. "Look, man, whatever you do, don't let it bother you so much because you look like shit, and soon everyone will start wondering what the hell is wrong with you. And anyway, you'd better get a grip before tonight, we have a guest, and we don't want you to scare her off," he says mysteriously.

He doesn't miss the hint. He cocks an eyebrow. "Her?"

Roger smiles, looking awfully smug and proud. "Mark's bringing a girl over."

Mark? A girl? "You're kidding."

"Nope. Apparently, he's really popular in that theater he works at, our Marky. She's an actress."

His jaw nearly drops to the floor. "Mark is dating _an actress_? When did _that_ happen?"

Roger laughs. "Two weeks ago. You were so busy fantasizing about this girl, you didn't see or hear anything else."

Great. Now Roger is mocking him. And as if things are not fucked up enough, _Mark_ was seeing someone?

"I'm gonna take a shower," he says, getting up. A very _cold_ shower, is what he needs.

oxoxoxoxoxoxo

The evening falls, but he got very little work done. He showered and had coffee, and has just gotten himself another cup. He's about to take it to the living-room when the door opens. Mark is home.

"Hi guys," he says. His eyes are shinning, he almost glows, in a way that makes it impossible to miss. He's obviously head over heels in love, although he was seeing this girl for no more than two weeks.

He envies him, envies his happiness. There's this longing within him, longing to love someone, to be loved in return, no matter how absurd this longing is, and how unusual it is to him.

A young woman steps into the loft, a bit hesitantly. Mark takes her hand, showing her in, blushing like a schoolboy. A few more steps, and she's in the apartment.

He drops his coffee mug. It crushes to the floor with an incredible noise. Coffee spills all over, staining his T-shirt. He ducks and kneels on the floor the second she turns her eyes in his direction. A small sigh of relief escapes him. Saved.

Roger shots himself from his seat and hurries towards him. He's kneeling next to him to help him. "You okay?" he asks lowly, obviously concerned.

He nods briefly, although his heart threatens to burst in his chest. His hand, the one that holds the broken remainders of the mug, is shaking violently. Roger notices, and gives him a questioning look, which he doesn't return.

Mark looks confused, but he walks into the living-room anyway. "Guys, this is Maureen Johnson. Maureen, these are the guys. That's Collins, and Roger and Benny," Mark adds as Roger and him join them in the living-room area.

Her eyes are shinning, dancing from one to another. Then her gaze is settled upon him, and something within her freezes. He sees the change in her expression. He knows she recognizes him too.

He glances at Roger, distressed. Roger looks at him questionably, but then his eyes grow big as realization hits him.

Collins shakes her hand, then Roger. Collins asks her something, saying something that makes her laugh. He thinks it'll buy him some time, but her laughter alone is a distraction. He is next. His heart is beating like crazy, his hands are damp with sweat. She laces her fingers with his when she shakes his hand; her grip is strong and confident, her cherry-colored lips curl in a smile.

"Nice to meet you, Benny," she says in that velvety voice, the voice that haunted him for every night in the past three weeks. Lenore's voice.

"You too," he replies, hardly even looking at her. He can't. He can't believe what a cruel coincidence this is; the girl he couldn't stop thinking about is now dating his best friend. Her words come back to him now, their meaning clear and horrible.

_Can I see you again?_

_You will, if it's meant to be. _

He looks at Mark. He's so damn happy. He looks at her. Maureen, was it? And she looks happy as well; happy in a way he can't quite define. He feels a bit resentful, as a matter of fact; Mark didn't seem to be her type, not to mention that she was definitely not the dating type. What could Mark possibly have done to make it change?

And worse, what was it that _he_ didn't manage to do, for her to choose Mark over him?

_You will, if it's meant to be._

He knows that the next time, he'll be more careful with his wishes.


End file.
